The laundry in the basket moved. He jerked, almost losing his balance. Sucking in air to steady his twitching nerves, he gingerly plucked at the items. A cotton flannel square and then a quilt wrapped around—
Colton stared. A baby? He jolted upright and gave the surroundings an intent stare. Where was the mother? He saw no one nearby except Mr. Gavin sweeping the sidewalk in front of his store. Colton opened his mouth to call to him and demand if he knew anything, but he was too far away.
The baby made a mewling sound.
Colton squatted by the basket again. “Who are you?” He’d never seen such a tiny human before. He didn’t know much about babies—anything, really—but he suspected the infant couldn’t be more than a few days old. He touched the incredibly small, pink cheek. So soft. So warm.
Who did this baby belong to? He poked his fingers around the swaddled infant, looking for clues to the young one’s identity. He found a bottle full of milk, but nothing more.
Nothing except—
He examined the quilt bundled around the baby and realized that he recognized this pattern. No one made it but his grandmother. She said she’d dreamed it after Grandfather died. She called it “flowers of life.” Triangles of dark fabric formed the bottom half of the diamond and then a maze of bright fabric formed the top half. He had no idea how she managed to create such a beautiful design—one that looked like flowers growing from dark soil. No one else had ever managed to duplicate the pattern accurately. She had made this quilt—and she only gave quilts to family. That meant the baby belonged to the Hayes clan. He considered the relations who lived nearby.
Cousin Amelia lived in Evans Grove, but she was in Kansas visiting her sister. Although she had put on weight lately, he’d seen no indication that she had been expecting a baby. She certainly hadn’t mentioned anything to anyone. Colton might not get into town very often, but news like that would have reached him no matter what. Children were something to celebrate in Evans Grove, especially after so many had been lost to the flood. No, the child couldn’t be Amelia’s.
He had cousins in Ohio. Perhaps one of them had come to visit and something had happened. If Ma and Pa had been healthy, the mother might have left the baby with them instead of at the unfinished orphanage.
A fierce protectiveness filled his chest. He would take care of this little one until the parents returned. He reached into the basket, thinking to scoop the baby up, then hesitated. Wasn’t there a special way to hold tiny babies? He’d heard women mention it when they handed their infants to others, but he couldn’t recall their exact words. Something about holding its head. But how should he hold it? Up? Down? To the side? Was he meant to hold the baby from the head or support it from the neck? He pulled his hands back to his knees. He knew how to care for baby calves and foals. He’d seen baby kittens born, watched brand-new puppies. Once he’d even saved a nest of pink mice, only to watch them grow into troublesome rodents. But a human baby! He had no idea what to do.
Standing, he again looked around, hoping the mother had slipped away on an errand and would now be returning on hurried feet.
But only a pair of cowboys rode down the street. A wagon approached from the north side of town. Somewhere he heard a door slam. And distant voices laughing.
“Hello?”
The only answer came from the basket, a little squawk.
The baby’s face wrinkled up like a prune and a thin cry came from the tiny mouth.
Colton’s heart turned warm and soft. This lost or abandoned or forgotten baby was somehow connected to Colton and, as such, would receive all the care Colton could provide. Remembering the admonition to watch the head, he cupped his hands under the bundle and lifted it to his chest, hoping for the best.
“You’re safe now, baby. Don’t cry.”
The wee face smoothed. The lips puckered into a little rosebud, and the baby opened watery blue eyes to consider Colton.
Colton’s protectiveness grew fierce. Whatever had happened to this baby’s mother, he would find her. In the meantime, he would protect the baby and take care of it.
At that moment, the baby screwed up its face and cried—a sound like a mournful cat. So weak and pitiful Colton wondered if something was wrong.
“Don’t cry.” He cradled the baby against his chest and jiggled the little bundle.
“Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.”
But the wails intensified. The baby sounded distraught.
What was he to do with such a tiny baby? Colton remembered the bottle and grabbed it. Stuck the nipple in the crying mouth.
The baby choked.
Colton’s face turned cold. His heart forgot to beat. In his ignorance had he drowned the wee mite?
* * *
Twenty-three-year-old Rebecca Sterling reminded herself to keep a cheerful smile and a hopeful heart as she headed down the street toward the orphanage. She was the one who had received the anonymous check, so she was the one in charge of the orphanage-building project, and she was determined to make it a success.
True, she knew nothing about building, but a year ago, she had known nothing about finding homes for orphan children, either. Her assignment with the Orphan Salvation Society—a New York–based organization that rescued orphaned city children from the streets and found families for them out West—had changed that in a hurry. Now all but one of the orphaned children placed in her care had been settled with families. The last child, ten-year-old Heidi Strauss, was at her side as they crossed the street to the orphanage building site. Half a block later, Rebecca’s heart sank and her smile faltered when she could see that no lumber had been delivered.
“No more wood,” Heidi announced.
“So I see.” No lumber. Things gone missing. Boards destroyed and made to look like an accident.
Someone didn’t want her to succeed at getting the orphanage built. Rebecca fought against her feelings of frustration. They were running out of time. The specially appointed U.S. marshal would soon return with the rescued orphans who’d been forced by Baxter into virtual slave labor for unscrupulous miners and farmers all over Nebraska territory.
The children deserved more than rescue. They deserved a warm place to live where they would be welcomed and protected. She intended to see that they got it. The orphanage would be built. Somehow.
She tucked her chin toward her chest in a sign that anyone who knew her would recognize as a sign of stubbornness. Whoever was at the root of her troubles would soon learn that Rebecca Gwendolyn Sterling expected people to do as she asked.
Her chin sagged. Here in small-town Nebraska, the name Lawrence Sterling III didn’t carry the weight it did back in New York. Few people here had heard of her father. Fewer knew or cared that he was a rich importer of European goods.
She again drew her chin back. She would not accept defeat.
Through the framework of the building, a dark figure lurched from side to side.
“Someone’s there,” Heidi whispered as she tugged on Rebecca to stop her.
Rebecca jerked to a halt and clung to Heidi’s hand. Was he the one responsible for the mischief at the site? Or was he there to help?
Realizing that she was alone except for the small girl, who squeezed her hand hard enough to numb her fingers, Rebecca glanced around, but saw no one. No one to help her...but no one to aid the intruder, either. There was only one of him, after all. No reason to be all trembly inside. She’d had enough of delays. If his intention was anything but working on the building...
A horse whinnied as she and Heidi trod past him.
A cry reached her ears. A thin wail. She stopped and listened. “What is that?”
Heidi listened, too. “It sounds like a baby.”
“Must be coming from an open window.” She moved on until she reached the corner of the framed building, where she paused to study the man. A big man, broad at the shoulders. Something stirred within her. A sense of recognition and more—a sense of eagerness and curiosity.
Nonsense. She pushed away everything but caution and determination. Whoever he was, whatever he was up to, she had a job to do on this building. It was time everyone involved realized that she was in charge and would not relent until her job was done.
“Come along,” she murmured to Heidi, who hung back, afraid of the man. Rebecca led her forward.
At that moment, the man turned.
Rebecca recognized him—Colton Hayes, a cowboy she’d seen in church, in the store, riding down the street, driving a buggy with an older man and woman she’d been informed were his parents.
Her admiration of the way he gently helped his parents from the buggy was her justification for why she’d studied him so intently. Noted his strong build, his thick black hair. The few times she’d seen him without the black cowboy hat he now wore, she’d noticed that his hair dipped in a wave. Today he wore a soft-looking blue shirt and denim trousers faded across the thighs, darker at the seams.
Surely he wasn’t the one responsible for the mischief.
Not a tall, handsome man like that.
He considered her across the distance. Too far for her to see the color of his eyes, though she knew they were as green as emeralds.
Rebecca Gwendolyn Sterling, have you taken leave of your senses? Staring shamelessly at a man? What would your father say? She scolded herself in her mother’s voice and words. Her mother had died seven years ago, yet Rebecca still heard her and listened to her. But that was not to say that she always followed what she knew would be her mother’s advice. If she heeded her mother, she would demurely approach the man and speak quietly and gently. Perhaps ask if he needed assistance. Instead, she lifted the hem of her navy blue skirt and stepped quickly and confidently across the rutted ground. She circled the corner and approached the man. Heidi followed on her heels, trying to be invisible behind Rebecca’s skirts.
“Am I ever glad to see you,” the rancher said at their approach.
She jerked to a halt. Confusion clouded her thoughts. What on earth did he mean? And what did he have in his arms? Something alive, if the movement inside the quilt indicated anything. The cry she’d noted before came from that bundle. The squalling intensified.
“What is that?”
His crooked grin seemed both amused and desperate, which didn’t make any sense. She couldn’t imagine this big, bold man uncertain or desperate about anything.
“It’s a baby.” His voice carried a definite note of tension. “A crying baby. I tried to give it a bottle but nearly choked it to death.”
“I see.” She didn’t. Why did he have a baby?
“Perhaps you can help.”
“Me?” Her voice squeaked and she swallowed hard, forced calmness to her words. “What would you like me to do?”
“I don’t know. Something. Anything.”
She closed the remaining distance and looked at the small, scrunched-up face. Two little fists quivered beside the red cheeks. “It’s very tiny.”
“I figure it can’t be very old.”
“Is it a boy or girl?”
He shook his head as he continued to jiggle the infant. “I don’t know.”
“How can you not know?”
He chuckled. “Maybe because I haven’t seen anything more than the bit that’s not wrapped up.”
“You mean to say—”
“I found it here in that basket. Can’t you make it stop crying?”
He expected her to know what to do? Of course he would. After all, as an agent for the Orphan Salvation Society, she was deemed an expert on children. Only one problem. Until her father had signed her up for this trip, she’d had very little to do with children except in the company of their mothers or older sisters. Never had she even seen a baby so tiny.
Still she told herself, I can do this.
She would do this. She’d prove to her father and everyone else—herself included—that she wasn’t simply a fancy lady from New York. She was capable.
He held the crying infant out to her.
Her heart thumped so hard she thought he might hear it. She sucked in a steadying breath. Hoping her arms wouldn’t shake noticeably, she took the baby. It was incredibly tiny. Somewhere deep in her being, a protective ache made itself known and she cradled the bundle close.
Heidi stood on tiptoe to peek around Rebecca’s shoulder. She pulled aside a corner of the quilt to look at the baby. “Oh, sweet,” she whispered. Then, as she realized Colton could see her, she ducked back out of sight.
Colton heaved a sigh that Rebecca took for relief. Obviously, he thought she could take care of the little one.
“Very well.” She could do this. “What does it need?”
He shrugged, though it seemed more like a gesture of uncertainty than lack of concern. “Beats me. But I suppose it’s hungry.”
“Then hand me the bottle, please.” She indicated the nursing bottle he held in one hand.
He did so. His fingers were long and firm-looking. A workingman’s hands. Hands that would grip life with an unrelenting grasp.
She pulled her thoughts back to reality and the heart-wrenching wails of the infant in her arms. She rocked. “Shh. Shh.” But the cries did not abate. What was wrong? What should she do? Steeling her face to reveal none of her fears, she shook the bottle then tipped the nipple into the open mouth.
The baby choked.
She jerked the bottle away. Oh, dear God, please don’t let this little one die. At that moment she wished some of her deportment lessons had been forgone for instruction in child care. But, of course, she was expected to follow her mother’s example and let her future children be raised by wet nurses and nannies. Rebecca recalled her nanny from when she was about five. When Miss Betsy left, she remembered crying for days until her mother had forbidden any more tears. Then she’d cried in private, often disappearing into a closet and shutting the door, hiding in the darkness.
Her arms tightened around the baby. No child deserved to know such loneliness and isolation, if it could be avoided. A child belonged in a home where he or she would be loved and valued.
Heidi tapped Rebecca’s shoulder and whispered so softly Rebecca strained to catch her words. “Maybe the baby needs a dry diaper.”
Rebecca stared at Heidi. How did this child know more about infants than she, a grown woman, did? She stilled a sigh. Because Heidi had been taught from an early age to be practical rather than ornamental.
The girl smiled. “Maybe there’s one there.” She indicated the basket, but didn’t move.
Rebecca understood that Heidi didn’t want Colton to see her. The poor girl was terribly self-conscious about the burn scars on her face and arms, especially after they’d kept her from gaining approval from any of the families looking to take in one of the Orphan Salvation Society children. But their time together had left Rebecca feeling very close to Heidi and very protective of the sweet, quiet girl. If she couldn’t find a home for Heidi, the child would live in the orphanage and Rebecca would have to return to New York once she was done here. If her father would allow it, she would take Heidi back to New York and keep her so she wouldn’t have to go to the orphanage. But even if Father did approve, the Society would insist the child be placed in a two-parent family. And anyway, her father would absolutely refuse. Rebecca prayed daily for a loving home for the child and did her best to ignore the ache in her heart at knowing she must say goodbye to Heidi.
She edged toward the basket to consider the contents, letting Heidi follow in her shadow.
Thankfully, Heidi reached around her and searched through the items. “I found one.” Her voice remained low, not wanting Colton to hear her. “And here’s a note.” She handed the piece of paper to Rebecca.
Her heart quivering, Rebecca unfolded the page.
I’m so glad there’s going to be an orphanage where my little boy can be safe. Please take good care of my darling. His name is Gabriel.
She pulled the baby close to her heart. The orphanage wasn’t ready, but she’d take
care of this child until it was. But now she had Heidi and the baby in her care. And an orphanage with stalled construction. The baby cried and she jiggled it in a vain attempt to soothe it.
It was a lot to manage. She drew in her chin. But she would do it.
ISBN: 9781460316108
Copyright © 2013 by Renee Halverson
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
Renee Ryan Page 25
